The Swords of Kings and Heroes
by An Orange Peon
Summary: When Shirou Emiya woke up, he found himself alone in a foreign country full of unfamiliar faces, with not a clue of how he had gotten there. But when trouble arises and people's lives are in danger, that fact alone is enough to drive away all the questions in his mind. Because saving people, no matter the place, no matter the time, is what heroes do.


**Prologue**

Diadora Astaroth had always grown up under the shadow of power. Both his father and his brother were great men, _powerful_ men – beings of such strength and influence that they made their enemies tremble and their allies look upon them in worshipful awe.

His father had near singlehandedly raised the Astaroth name to a preeminent position in the Underworld. His success had been such that the number of rivals that could challenge them now could be counted on a single hand, while those whose families surpassed theirs were fewer still. His brother was even better, having seized the name of Beelzebub in the aftermath of the great civil war that had torn their species in half and driven them to the brink of extinction mere centuries ago. The name marked him as one of the four kings of the Underworld, and his elevation had brought their family even greater prestige.

It was for that reason that Diadora knew how to recognize power for what it was. He knew what it felt like on his skin, how it smelled in the air, and how oppressive the sheer weight of its presence could be. He could feel all that and more now from the human woman sitting across from him.

To say that she was a beauty would have been a miserable lie. Her features were too sharp and angular; her eyes too cruel. The lilac dress that she wore was wasted on her, Diadora thought, though he took special care not to let any of his distaste show. If she so wished it, this woman could snuff out the spark of his life with the barest twitch of her finger. Such was the power of her Sacred Gear, Incinerate Anthem. Instead, he spoke to her in smooth velvet tones, as a gentleman might while courting a lady of the noblest birth.

"Lady Walburga," he began. "Before we begin, I would like to express my utmost gratitude for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice, and what an honor it is. Even in the Underworld, tales of your strength and beauty are known far and wide."

Walburga's lips curled upward with pleasure. "When one from an esteemed household such as yours comes knocking on my door, only a fool would turn them away. The honor is all mine."

"As kind and graceful as you are beautiful, I see," Diadora replied. "Still, as the guest, it would be remiss for me to not present my lovely host with a gift." He clapped his hands once. "Ladies."

Two women dressed in the habit of nuns stepped forward from the shadow of the corner of the room. They bore between them a large wooden chest bound in dark iron. It was easily large enough to fit the both of them inside with some room to spare. They carefully set the chest down in front of Walburga and opened it, and the lady in lilac's eyes went wide in astonishment.

"This..." she breathed, stunned by the display. Without even caring for appearances, she fell to her knees to get closer to the treasure within, letting the gold, silver, and all the polished jewels and alchemical reagents of every sort tumble through her fingers.

Diadora allowed himself to smirk while the woman wasn't looking. _What an easily impressed sow._

"I've heard that your group, Hexennacht, has fallen onto hard times ever since it broke away from the magicians' High Council," Diadora said calmly. "I could not bear to hear that one of your strength and talent be forced to eke out such a miserable existence in this ruined castle. It is like the casting of pearls before swines. You deserve far better than this."

"I do," Walburga said. Her eyes were still glued to the treasure. "But what can we do? Hexennacht is now nothing more than a group of rogue magicians. We have no base of support, Mephisto saw to that, and we face his witch hunters almost daily."

"Mephistopheles." Diadora sneered at the name. "I had heard that he had escaped to the human world by making a pact with some foolish old man at the peak of the Underworld's civil war. They say that he rules over the High Council like a king. A poor replacement for the true kingship he desired but was too afraid to fight for, unlike my brother, no doubt."

"More like a tyrant," Walburga snorted, finally raising her eyes and retreating back to her seat. It seemed that it was only now that she realized how shamefully she had been behaving, and her pale cheeks were touched with pink. How ridiculous. He had already seen her drooling over his gift like a begging mutt, and only now she tries to salvage any semblance of dignity? "Any magician who does not agree with his methods, he labels a stray and has them hunted like dogs. Any who try to challenge his rule, he has executed."

"Well, if he's unable to keep magicians of your caliber on his side, then I've no doubt that his days are numbered. But I digress. This is not what I've come to talk with you about. What I want to talk about is Hexennacht, and what I can do for it... provided you are willing to do something for me."

"I'm listening."

 _Of course you are, beggar that you are._ Diadora wanted to roll his eyes. Instead, he began explaining his proposition.

"There is something that I want that neither I nor any of mine can easily retrieve. I would ask that you and your magicians bring it to me. In return, I would shower you with enough wealth to make what you have here look like a mere pittance. Do it well, and we could establish... shall we say, a relationship of trust."

"And just what is this 'something' you want us to get?" Walburga's eyes gleamed. "Surely it must be quite the valuable prize if you're willing to pay so much for it."

 _Greedy cow._ "Only for me, I assure you," Diadora said frostily. "I doubt it would prove nearly as valuable to you. Have you heard of the Blessed Maiden of Rome?"

"I have," Walburga answered. "Asia Argento. The Church's pet. It's said that she has an extremely powerful Sacred Gear. Is that why you want her?"

"Hardly," Diadora scoffed. "I could not care less about her Sacred Gear. I want _her."_

Walburga's eyes flicked over towards Diadora's servants, and her lips faintly curled in disgust. "Your taste in women, I see. But you know, the Grigori are always looking to buy those with rare and exceptional Sacred Gears. I'm sure they'd pay quite well for hers."

"Not as well as I would, I assure you," Diadora said. "And they would pay you but once for the job, whereas I would continue to be your patron long into the future." He shrugged and stood up. "But if you'd rather not accept my request, then that is entirely up to you. I cannot force you to help me. What a shame, though I suppose the Fallen will pay you adequately enough."

"It was a joke, a joke," Walburga said hastily. "Hexennacht will gladly retrieve this girl for you. In truth, I already have a plan."

"Is that so?" Diadora arched an eyebrow and sat back down. "Then let's hear it."

"As it so happens, Asia Argento is scheduled to deliver a series of public sermons across Italy over the next month as a sort of rehearsal for a continental tour next year," Walburga explained. "The Church is attempting to bolster the current decline of believers, you see, and so they've placed one of their most valuable assets in a uniquely vulnerable position."

"I see," Diadora nodded. "So you mean to ambush her during one of her sermons. However, she'll still be heavily guarded. And if they place Asia under Dulio's guard, then any attempt to seize her is doomed to fail."

"So we shall take a calculated risk," Walburga said. "A small group and I shall attack one of the Church's strongholds far away. This will compel the Church to reassign Dulio in order to deal with me. With that opening, my magicians will infiltrate one of the girl's congregations, slay the exorcists, of which I expect there to be no more than one hundred or so, and take the girl before making their escape."

"A good plan. Bold. Swift. Precise." Diadora nodded and smiled. "It would appear that I can rest easy and leave this matter entirely in your capable hands."

"You certainly can."

"In that case, I will take my leave now so that you can begin to prepare." Diadora stood up and began heading towards the door, his two servants bowing as he passed them by. Then he stopped and turned back around. "Oh, before I forget, there is one more thing. A special request, if I may."

"What is it?"

"If at all possible, I would prefer the girl to be brought back to me unharmed." He flashed a smile at her. "Spoiled goods are so much less appetizing, you see, even if she can heal herself."

"Of course," Walburga replied, and once more that mildly disgusted look appeared on her face, but only for a second. "I assure you, you will not be disappointed."

 **Chapter 1**

" _Uuuuhhh..."_ Shirou Emiya groaned painfully as his eyes slowly blinked open and found himself face-to-face with the cold hardness of concrete. Grudging hands pushed himself up, allowing him to take a better look around, though through yet bleary eyes.

He had been lying in the middle of an empty street. His clothes were in such tatters that they did nothing to protect him from the cold. And it was _cold._ The sun had not yet fully risen on the horizon, casting only a drab grey glow on the world below. Cooled by the early morning air, the concrete he had been sleeping on may as well have been a solid slab of black ice. When a gentle breeze blew, it bit into his body like sharp fangs.

It was only then that Shirou realized just how numb he felt. It was like his blood had been replaced with icy water. He could not even bring himself to shiver, so chilled as he was.

 _How long was I out?_ Shirou wondered. His thoughts were as sluggish as the movements of his body. He could not recognize the street he was in, nor any of the signs on the street posts and shops that lined the sidewalk. None of them were written in Japanese. English, perhaps? He could not be sure. They used the Latin alphabet, but he didn't know any of the words.

Shirou began to shuffle forward, dragging his feet as though they were iron weights. He rubbed his hands on his chest, trying to put even a little warmth back into them, but it was like rubbing ice against ice, and he soon stopped and settled for hugging his arms close to his body.

He had no idea where he was going. He walked with no real sense of direction, driven only by a primal desire to find some place warm to rest. He found it in an alleyway, where the tall walls afforded a little protection against the biting winds – at least until it changed directions. But there he curled, leaning against a green dumpster splotched orange with rust, wondering hazily where he was and what had happened to him even as his eyes began to close.

But just then, in the few seconds before his consciousness fled from him again, he heard a sound, and saw someone stand before him. A girl, wearing a warm coat and with the bluest hair he had ever seen.

 _I wonder if she dyed it?_ was the last thought he had before he finally fell back asleep.

* * *

Xenovia Quarta frowned deeply as she stared at the Asian boy huddled up against the dumpster, but it was her partner, Irina Shidou, that finally put voice to her thoughts.

"Did he just die?"

"I'm not sure," Xenovia admitted and stooped down to take a closer look.

The boy appeared to be her age. His most striking feature was his auburn hair; his most unusual was his state of being. Xenovia peeled aside a bit of his torn shirt and grimaced at a gash that ran across his flank. Judging by the degree of coagulation, he had suffered the wound at least six hours ago, perhaps more. Thankfully, it wasn't mortal. He would need to have the wound cleaned and stitched, but it would not kill him.

Far more pressing was his hypothermia. When Xenovia poked the boy's cheek, he did not even stir. It felt like she had dipped her finger into snow. When she pressed her index and middle finger against the side of his neck, she could only feel a feeble pulse. _Ba-dump... ba-dump... ba-dump..._ Quickly, Xenovia stripped off her coat and draped it around the boy.

"He's alive," Xenovia declared, shivering a little from a passing wind. "But we need to take him to the hospital, or else he really will die. Help me carry him."

"Okay," Irina nodded and carefully helped load the boy onto Xenovia's back.

With Irina supporting her from the rear, Xenovia began walking towards the local hospital. The way was slow, however. In spite of the slimness of the boy's body, he was surprisingly heavy. Soon, Xenovia was sweating hard, despite the temperature, and her breathing was becoming ragged.

"Do you want to switch?" Irina asked.

"No, I'm fine," Xenovia grunted, and blew a lock of her hair out of her face.

It took them an hour to reach the hospital. When at last they arrived, they took the boy to the emergency room, and explained to a questioning nurse what had happened.

"We found him in an alley over near Via Chigi," Xenovia said as some other technicians wheeled the boy away on a trolley. "He has multiple wounds from an edged weapon, but the most serious one is on his side, over here. He's also experiencing severe hypothermia. We think he was mugged by someone and left to die."

"Dreadful," the nurse said as she finished jotting down what Xenovia said. She put a hand on Xenovia's shoulder and smiled at her and Irina. "The two of you did a good thing bringing him here. It must have been hard carrying him all the way here by yourselves. Why don't you rest over there for a little while. I could fix you some tea."

"No, thank you," Xenovia said. "We were just doing what a good Samaritan should. But we really do need to get to work now. If we don't leave soon, we'll be late."

"Working at your age?" The nurse nodded approvingly. "I wish my daughter would learn from the two of you. She's always lazing around at home or with her friends. Ah, but never mind me. Shall I call a taxi for you?"

"Oh, no. That's all right," said Xenovia. "We'll walk."

"Besides," Irina chirped, "we don't have any money on us right now."

The nurse smiled. "All right. Go on, then. And be safe."

"We will, thank you."

Xenovia and Irina left the hospital and went jogging down the streets of Viterbo. The sun had risen now, and there were some people out in the streets. There were those commuting to work in their cars, some by foot, and a few joggers getting their early morning run in.

They arrived at their destination, the largest and most luxurious hotel in the city, about thirty minutes later. They showed the front desk a card key that proved their temporary residence here, then took an elevator to the topmost floor. There were many people milling about in the hallways, none of them Xenovia and Irina's age. All of them were sporting a gun and the bladeless hilt of a sword at their hips. Like the two of them, they were all exorcists.

They went to the largest room, where already some other exorcists were gathered and waiting. At their head was a tall woman, in her late twenties or early thirties judging from appearance alone, with icy blue eyes and long golden hair. When she saw the two of them enter the room, she went over to them and gave Xenovia a painful pinch on the cheeks.

"You're late," Sister Griselda said. "Where were the two of you?"

"Wai'! I fan exflain!" Xenovia squealed as she tried to pull away.

"I told you when the meeting was," Griselda scowled. "You should have had plenty of time to set up the barriers and get back here. What took you?"

"We had to help someone," Irina explained, looking entirely too amused by Xenovia's predicament. "We found someone who was badly injured and had to take them to the hospital."

"Oh, is that so?" Griselda released Xenovia, allowing her to rub her raw cheek ruefully. "You did finish setting up the barriers, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am," Irina said. "All around the _Palazzo dei Papi_ and the north sector, just like you asked."

"Good," Griselda said. "Then go get something to eat and rest for a few hours before we leave."

"Yes, ma'am," they said and left, leaving only those few exorcists who were permitted to attend the meeting, the captains, behind.

They went to their shared room after that. There Irina kicked off her shoes and flopped herself on the bed and stretched her body, yawning as she did. "Say, do you think that boy is going to be all right?"

"I'm sure he will be," Xenovia replied as she sat down at the desk and took out her gun from a hidden holster. She began dismantling it to give it a thorough maintenance, being careful to extract the light crystal from inside as she did. "The doctors will take good care of him. You should make sure your weapons are okay."

"I already checked them last night," Irina moaned, waving one hand dismissively. "I wanna sleep for a bit. We've been up since four."

"Don't be lazy."

"I'm not being lazy. Being rested is an important part of preparation."

Xenovia found that she couldn't argue with that. "Fine. Do you want to get something to eat first, at least?"

"Hmmm... guess I should." Irina hopped off the bed. "I'll call room service. Is there anything you want too?"

"Anythings fine."

"Okee-dokes."

After eating, the two slept for a while, waking up again at noon when the call for assembly went out. The first group of exorcists went down through the elevators. They were to serve as the vanguard, securing the path to the _Palazzo dei Papi –_ the Papal Palace – and would later function as the outer perimeter defense _._ About half an hour later, the second group went. Griselda led this group, taking with her the bulk of the most experienced and skilled exorcists. They were the direct escorts for Asia Argento and would guard the inner perimeter of the Palace once they were arrived.

Asia Argento was the same age as Xenovia, but appeared several years younger. She was smaller than her, more frail. And seeing her walking down the hallway beside Griselda, dressed in ornate white vestments embroidered with cloth-of-gold, Xenovia was strangely reminded of a dress up doll.

When they were gone, only Xenovia's group was left. They were the smallest group, numbering only twenty in all. Unlike the other exorcists, they were not dressed in the black formal suits fitting for the event. They were wearing sweaters and t-shirts and jeans and slacks. They were the plainclothes units and would intermingle among the audience to preemptively stop any potential disruptions, whether it be as innocuous as a heckler... or something far more sinister.

They left the hotel an hour later, alone or in small groups, never numbering more than three at a time. Each group made sure to put plenty of time between their departure and the last group's to avoid any suspicion. Xenovia went with Irina. They took a longer roundabout path to the Papal Palace, making numerous stops wherever seemed natural. They pretended to window shop in the markets, admired a large copper statue in the town square, and rested at a park before winding their way to the Papal Palace. By the time they arrived, another hour had passed.

Xenovia was pleased to find that the Palace was teeming with congregants, many of whom were teens, some nearly as young as her, or young adults. This was their first stop in the month long evangelism tour that had been scheduled, and Xenovia had been afraid that it would be unsuccessful. Too many young people these days were a godless sort, so Xenovia had expected few people would show up, or that only the old and elderly would. She was glad to have been proven wrong.

Irina tugged Xenovia by her sleeve. "Come on, let's get inside."

They went in, following the thick flow of people through the main gates until they were in the courtyard. There were twenty rows of benches, but they were all already filled, so they stood closer to the walls, where many of the exorcists were stationed, who were constantly relaying information to one another through their wireless earpieces. Towards the back of the yard, a large wooden platform decorated with thick red and white velvet had been built, with a podium and microphone on top.

As the last of the congregants filed in, the door to the inner halls of the Papal Palace opened, and Asia Argento came out escorted by Sister Griselda and a few other men and women. A hushed silence fell over the crowd, and many of them began to whisper in a reverent awe seconds later.

Such a reaction was to be expected. Within the Christian circles, Asia Argento was something of a celebrity. It was said that she had been blessed by God and communed with him directly, and that with but a touch and a prayer she could restore a person to perfect health. There were more than a few before-and-after pictures floating around in the internet to attest to the feat, despite the Church's efforts to suppress them. It was dangerous to allow those pictures to circulate, because the laity were more correct than they realized.

Although it wasn't certain if she truly could commune with God, it was true that her healing gift was a result of God's miracle: A Sacred Gear. Divine tools or abilities imparted upon the souls of a lucky few so that they might spread God's word in the world, though there were many who perverted its purpose for more nefarious, selfish deeds.

For those not in the know, she truly was a miracle-worker, and with their overwhelming support, Asia Argento had been canonized as a saint, becoming an exception to the rule that one could only be canonized after their death. Thus, she became known as the Blessed Maiden of Rome, or more simply the holy maiden.

For those in the know, she was someone who possessed a covetous gift, one that many powerful people would dearly love to possess and exploit. And indeed, many people had made attempts on the holy maiden in the past, and despite the Church's best efforts that number only grew, not shrink. In the end, they had learned that attempting to suppress information on the internet was a lesson in futility, and had instead opted to simply triple the number of guards assigned to her person.

The holy maiden took to the stage.

" _Ah... ah..."_ she said, testing the microphone. The crowd fell completely silent. "Hello, everyone. Thank you all for coming today. My name is Asia Argento... but I suppose you all already knew that." She laughed with all the nervousness of any child her age would when thrust up onto the stage. A quiet chuckle rippled throughout the congregation, more out of politeness than genuine amusement. "Before we begin, let us all bow our heads and pray." She clasped her hands in front of her and closed her eyes. There was a rustle of movement as the congregation did the same. _"Dear Heavenly Father, we thank you for allowing us to gather here today..."_

Unlike the others, Xenovia and Irina kept their eyes only half-closed. They were only pretending to pray so that they could continue to keep an eye on the crowd. It was why they noticed a late straggler enter the courtyard. They thought nothing of it at the time, but then another came in. And then another... and another... and another...

" _... we thank you for this good weather, that we might come together in such numbers."_

Soon, the congregation had swollen to a third again of its original size. Xenovia overheard an exorcist behind her whispering into his earpiece, _"Unit eight, what is your situation outside?"_

Xenovia shared a look with Irina before touching the silver cross necklace inlaid with a small golden stone at its center that hung hidden underneath her shirt. It was cool and still, causing Xenovia to frown. Was this really just a normal group of stragglers? It seemed far-fetched, but perhaps there had been a traffic jam somewhere that had stalled these people until just now.

" _Those here today have taken the time out of their busy lives in order to hear your word. Bless them, Lord. And watch over all those who could not be here. Today, remind us of your mercy and grace, so that we might also be merciful and full of grace to our brothers and sisters on Earth. Guide us, Lord, and give us the strength for this day and all the days to come. Amen."_

" _Amen,"_ the congregation echoed back.

"Amen," Xenovia whispered while still looking around. A man brushed roughly past behind her, nearly pushing her aside. When Xenovia turned, she saw the man approach one of the exorcists, who noticed him too late. A magic circle appeared around the man's hand, and a blade of ice formed a second after. The frozen dagger was thrust up through the exorcist's throat in a shower of blood. And then, when an explosion rent the air and fire and smoke raged to life in an instant, Xenovia's silver cross necklace trembled and burned hot against her skin.

* * *

When Shirou woke up again, he found himself to be pleasantly warm. He rubbed his eyes and yawned and tried to sit up to stretch, but stopped and winced when a sharp pain went lancing through his side. He laid back down and looked at his body. He was dressed in a loose gown. When he checked underneath the collar, he found that there was a swollen pink wound that had been stitched shut on his flank.

Shirou looked around himself. There were many expensive looking machinery all around him; an IV drip was stuck into his arm; and his clothes were lying neatly folded on a nearby chair.

 _I'm in... a hospital room?_ he thought. _Oh, I see. Someone must have found me and brought me here._

Shirou wondered who it was that had saved him. He could vaguely remember seeing a girl with dyed blue hair, but nothing of her features beyond that. And even then, he couldn't be certain if what he had seen was merely a cold induced hallucination or not; his memories were too hazy.

Carefully, Shirou climbed off the bed, bringing his IV drip stand with him, and tried to leave the room. But just as he reached out for the doorknob, it twisted on its own. Shirou took a step back to avoid being hit by the door as a nurse opened it from the other side.

" _Oh,"_ the nurse said. She seemed surprised to see him up, or perhaps mad, because she quickly scowled and said something to Shirou in words he did not understand. But judging by the way she was pointing at the bed and gently urging him towards it with a hand on his back, he assumed that she meant for him to lie back down. So he did.

The nurse attempted to talk to him more. She seemed to be asking him some questions, but Shirou could only shake his head and shrug helplessly.

"I don't understand what you're saying," he said. Then he repeated in thickly accented English. _"I do not understand. Sorry."_

The woman seemed to realize what he was saying, because she nodded, and after checking the drip and a few other things on the machines, left the room.

Once more left to himself and in silence, save for the rhythmic _beep_ ing of some of the machines, Shirou's mind began to wander. Where was he? Or rather, what _country_ was he in? Because it was apparent that he was no longer in Fuyuki City, Japan. And that being the case, it begged the question: how did he get here? The last thing he could recall before waking up in this foreign country was that final fateful battle at Ryuudou Temple. What had happened to him there?

" _Tsk."_ Shirou put those thoughts aside. He supposed there was no point in wringing his brain over the question, because no matter how long he thought about it, he knew he wouldn't be getting an answer by himself, nor anytime soon.

Shirou closed his eyes and listened to the sound of his own breath. Without anything to do, he felt a boredom come over him, slowly lulling him back into sleep.

That was when he heard it.

Shirou's eyes flashed open. He held his breath and reinforced his ears, and he heard it again: the rumbling sound of an explosion.

He got up out of bed and went to the window. A few miles away, a tall castle on a hill overlooking the city was up in flames, with thick plumes of black smoke filling the air.

Without thinking, Shirou yanked free the IV drip in his arm and stripped off his gown. He dressed himself quickly in his own clothes and ran out of his room and down the hallway, ignoring the cries of protest from the nurses he swept past and the stitches that strained to keep his skin together.

Not knowing the layout of the hospital, it took Shirou a few minutes to find the exit, but once he was out, he ran as hard as he could towards the castle.

As he drew closer and closer to the castle, more and more people were fleeing away from it. It was veritable stampede. Shirou wished that he could have asked one of them what was going on. So instead, he redoubled his efforts and ran even faster.

The front gate of the castle was its only entrance, and it was barricaded by a pile of burning stones and rubble. From the other side, Shirou could hear the screams of dying people. His breathing fell shallow and quick and his eyes went wide.

He needed to get them out of there. He needed to somehow free them. A weapon... he needed a weapon that could create a safe pass out of that deathly cage.

For a few, seemingly eternal seconds, Shirou racked his brain for the correct answer. When he found it, he chanted:

" _Trace on."_

An ornate golden spike appeared in Shirou's hand. He pointed it at the wall, a short distance away from the main gate, and aimed at an angle.

" _Vajra!"_ Shirou said, activating the Noble Phantasm. A bolt of lightning ripped forth from the ritualistic dagger and smashed into the stone wall like a battering ram. The stones shrieked and caved inward, with much of the rubble flying into the wall diagonally opposite to it. The effect was almost instantaneous. Within seconds of opening a hole in the wall, the survivors inside came pouring out. Many were injured, but those who were able were helping those who could not escape on their own to get away from the place.

Shirou let his Noble Phantasm dissipate and weaved his way through the outgoing survivors and into the courtyard. There he found a great many people locked in combat, and a great many more already dead.

On one side were magi. They were casting spells of fire and ice and thunder at warriors wielding gun and sword. But their weapons were no ordinary things. Their guns never seemed to run out of ammunition as it fired off bursts of light in rapid succession. And their swords were holy swords, Shirou could tell, mass produced to be of use against the monsters that shied away from the light of their blades.

As the battle raged, there was one person who stood out. A young blonde girl, unarmed and seemingly helpless as a group of the magi forced their way through the ring of defense that protected her, wounding some and killing others. They seized the girl by the wrist, causing her to cry out desperately for help, and though he was still unsure what the cause of the conflict was or who the aggressors were, that was all Shirou needed to move.

He bounded across the courtyard, projected the married swords Kanshou and Bakuya, and hurled them both with all his strength. They spun rapidly as they cut through the air, before their wide, curved blades lodged themselves deeply in the leg of the magus who had grabbed the girl and the shoulder of another one beside. Replacements for his two now lost swords were immediately remade in his hands, and with the element of surprise on his side, he managed to beat back the last two of the magi that had surrounded the girl without injury.

"We need to get you out of here," Shirou said and held out his hand. "Hurry, before they come back." He knew that she could not understand his words, but hoped that she would understand what he was trying to say and realize that he was not her enemy. He grabbed her by the hand and led her away, and to his great relief she did not resist.

Some of the warriors and the magi tried to stop him, all thinking that he was a new enemy to fight, a scavenger who had come to steal away both sides' prize. But they were all so embroiled in their battle with one another that none could spare more than a token effort to chase after them without risking being cut down from behind.

Shirou and the girl escaped through the hole in the wall and they ran for the city. It took only a few minutes before Shirou could feel the girl dragging him down. When he looked at her, he saw that she was harshly out of breath. She was breathing so heavily, sweating and trembling so profusely, that Shirou knew instantly that this was a person who had never physically exerted herself in her entire life.

However, they were still too close to the castle to rest. Even now, Shirou could see some of the magi and warriors coming out of the castle to pursue him, so Shirou swept the girl up in his arms and went that way instead.

He ran a few steps, then faltered, not from the girl's weight, who was extremely light, but from the splitting pain of the wound in his side reopening. Shirou bit down on his lip so hard that he broke skin and bled in order to prevent himself from crying out in pain, and forced himself to work through it and move his legs forward.

For half an hour or more, Shirou ran. He took as many twists and turns as possible so as to lose their pursuers. By the time he finally let the girl down and leaned against a brick wall to support himself, he had also run out of breath, and hot, pulsating waves were emanating from his flank. He touched the area gingerly, and his fingers came up red and wet.

" _Stai bene?"_ the girl asked him as she looked up at him. She had a worried expression on her face, so Shirou did his best to give her a reassuring smile.

"I'm okay," he said. "Just a scratch."

The girl's eyes went to his wound. She frowned, looking horrified by the blood, and put a hand over it. To Shirou's surprise, her hand began to glow green, and she felt warm and pleasant to the touch. Shirou was surprised again when he noticed that his wound was closing rapidly. When the girl pulled her hand away from him, there was nothing left but smooth, healthy skin.

"Wow," Shirou said. "Thank you." He looked the girl over again. There were many Christian symbols and designs on her white dress. _Huh, weird._ He had thought that for the members of the Church, magic was taboo. But it seemed that, like Kirei Kotomine, she too was one of the rare practitioners still associated with the Church. "Is there anywhere you can go that's safe?"

The girl cocked her head and looked at him confusedly.

Shirou sighed. "Right. What was I thinking? We should keep moving."

" _And where would you go?"_

Kanshou and Bakuya were immediately in Shirou's hands as he jumped to his feet and looked up at the sky. Dozens of men and women were hovering in the air. The one who had spoken was a middle-aged man, already balding, with an old scar that ran down one eye.

" _Boy,"_ he said, causing Shirou to wince. Although Shirou could understand what the man was saying, for some reason, he could tell that he wasn't speaking Japanese. It was like the intent of his words were being shoved directly into his head through his ears. The effect was grating, not unlike nails scratching on a chalkboard. _"Word of advice: put your swords down and step away from the girl."_

Shirou glared up at the man.

Although he had been healed physically, he had still spent a sizable portion of his mana on Vajra. And more importantly, he was vastly outnumbered. If he chose to fight, he was bound to lose.

But still, Shirou gave them his answer – the only answer he would ever give to people like them. They were not pleased. And though their spells fell upon him like rain, he kept his grip firm, stood, and he fought.

Because that was what heroes did.

* * *

The courtyard of the Papal Palace was a mass grave.

Everywhere one looked, there were bodies on the ground. Some were only wounded; most were dead. Of the latter, a disproportionate amount were ordinary civilians – the congregants who had come to attend service, none of them imagining that this would be their last day on Earth.

 _This is a disaster._ Xenovia walked among the corpses, though her legs felt like they were brittle sticks. She was an exorcist, whose duty it was to safeguard humanity as a holy warrior from the unnatural beings of the world and those who delved into heretical forces. As such, she was no stranger to the sight of death – but this was the first time seeing so many dead people all at once. She had never known that the air after a battle could be so nauseatingly thick and heavy. _Or perhaps,_ she thought as she knelt beside a mother and a child, their eyes still open in a terrified forever gaze, _that is just the weight of our failure._

Xenovia closed their eyes and clenched her fist tightly.

They should have been prepared for an attack. No, that was wrong. They _were_ prepared. They just weren't expecting an attack of this scale, and especially not one _this_ brazen.

 _Who?_ she wondered. _Which group of magicians would dare risk open war with the Church?_ It could not have been any group affiliated with the magicians' High Council. Their upper echelons would never allow it, for they knew that such a war would only result in extreme losses on both sides at best; mutual destruction at worst.

It must have been magicians unattached to the Council, then. One driven by some mad desperation, though why they were so desperate was anyone's guess.

Irina came up to her then. She was favoring an arm and was covered in dust and blood, but appeared otherwise unharmed.

"Hey," said Irina. "How are you doing?"

"I'm all right." Xenovia sighed. "Just... really tired. How are the others?"

"Not too good," Irina grimaced. "A lot of them are dead or badly wounded. Sister Griselda is unconscious. She's being taken away by an ambulance right now. And the holy maiden is missing."

"The magicians got her?"

"No, actually," Irina said. "I think you'll be surprised by this: Luther says he saw who took the maiden. It was a boy – an _Asian_ boy with reddish hair. Sound familiar?"

"You're kidding."

"I wouldn't joke in a situation like this."

"Unbelievable." Xenovia groaned. "What kind of messed up coincidence is that?"

"It's not your fault," Irina said. "There's no way either of us could have known that he was someone who was after the holy maiden. You can't be blamed for doing the right thing."

"I guess." Xenovia stood up and touched her holstered gun by the grip. "We need to chase after them. The barriers ought to still be up, so they must still be in the city. If we're lucky, we might be able to catch up to them before they leave the city limits and teleport away. How many people do we still have that can fight?"

"About twenty, most of them with minor injuries."

"That few, huh?" Xenovia clicked her tongue. "Where's Jaen? She'll need to lead us."

"She's dead."

"What about Harold?"

"He's in the hospital."

"Dane? Hinda? Any of the other captains?"

"I don't know if it was on purpose or not, but all of them were the magicians' first targets," Irina said. "If it was on purpose, it was probably so that they could destroy our organization."

Xenovia bit her lip to hold back a curse that threatened to spill out of her mouth. "Fine. I'll lead them. Can you gather everyone for me and have them meet me over by the corner of Clemente and Sant' Antonio? Try to avoid the police. We don't have time to answer their questions."

"Got it," Irina said. "I'll see you there."

* * *

For the third time that day, Shirou woke up from the abyss of unconsciousness in a place he did not recognize. This time, he couldn't help but feel more than a touch of exasperation. _Not again,_ he thought with a sigh.

He was in a windowless cell this time around. It was old and grey and damp. Water dripped from the corner of the ceiling and pooled into a small depression on the floor directly underneath. The Christian girl was with him as well. She was already awake. Her eyes were watery and frightened. Her hands were bound with rope behind her back. Shirou's hands were also tied, but it felt like they were encased in something made of metal. Outside the cell, the balding magus sat on a stool, reading a hardcover book. When he heard Shirou stir and push himself up with his head and shoulders, he set the book down on his lap, perked up, and smiled at him.

" _Hey,"_ the magus said. His voice was still as grating as before. _"Had a good nap?"_

Instead of answering, Shirou rose to his feet, preparing to fight. However, the magus waved him back down instead.

" _Hold your horses, kid,"_ he drawled. _"You really don't want to do whatever it is you're about to try to do. Sit back down. Let's talk for a bit. It'll help pass the time."_

"Why should I listen to anything you have to say?"

" _Because if you listen to me, you'll know that those shackles you have on you are enchanted to seal the usage of your Sacred Gear,"_ the magus replied, pointing at his hands. _"So just calm down. And let's chat. There's nothing better for either of us to do at this point, yeah?"_

That made Shirou's temper flare. "You kidnap us and now you're telling me to calm down? Are you insane?"

The magus frowned. _"I can see why you'd be upset. But, honestly, you should be thanking me."_

" _Thanking_ you?" Shirou repeated incredulously.

" _Sure."_ The magus smiled with remarkable innocence. _"I was the one who said that we should keep you alive. Everyone else wanted to kill you for getting in the way"_

"I'm guessing you didn't do it out of the goodness of your heart," Shirou said acerbically.

" _True."_ The magus grinned. _"I figured we could sell you to the Grigori. They're always looking to buy those with Sacred Gears, and we could definitely use the extra cash."_

 _That's the second time he's used those words,_ Shirou thought. But what was this 'Sacred Gear' he kept talking about? Was he referring to his Reality Marble? _No, that can't be it._ From the way the magus was describing it, it seemed to be something that was rare but not extremely uncommon.

"Fine, you got me. I won't try to escape." Shirou sat down, then he jerked his head at the Christian girl. "But let her go, at least."

" _That's like asking us to give up the cake for the cherry on the top,"_ the magus responded. _"It's not happening."_

"She's just a girl. She can't even fight."

" _Which is why she was tied with rope, and you with chains."_

Shirou stood back up and glared at the magus. "Are you going to sell her to this Grigori as well?"

" _No, she's going to a much higher bidder."_

Shirou ground his teeth together to stop himself from blowing up on the man. "I see," he said with a forced calmness. He glanced over at the door at the end of the dungeon. It was made of solid wood, so he couldn't confirm with his eyes, but when he reinforced his ears he couldn't hear anyone on the other side. That was good. It meant that he did not need to worry about immediate reinforcements for the magus.

Inside his mind, Shirou mentally envisioned the steps he needed to follow. First, he needed to break his shackles. Second, cut down the cell's bars. Third, neutralize the magus before he could cast a spell or call for reinforcements.

The magus appeared to be under the impression that he was unable to project his swords – or rather, it seemed he had mistaken his projections for the product of a "Sacred Gear." In that case... five seconds. Shirou predicted that he had five seconds upon acting before the magus could properly react. He needed to be silenced within that time limit.

 _Can I do it?_ Shirou hesitated. _No, I have no choice_ but _to do it._

"Hm?" The magus cocked his head curiously as Shirou took a deep breath. Then his eyes went wide as Kanshou appeared in the air behind him and shot down to sever the chains that bound his hands together. The magus's book fell from his lap onto the floor as he scrambled to his feet and hastily began inscribing a glowing runic circle in the air. Shirou spun downward, grabbed Kanshou, and in the same rising motion, slashed apart the steel bars, causing them to clatter on the stone tiles.

But it was too late. Shirou had underestimated his enemy's reaction speed, and overestimated how much time he would have. He had already finished drawing his circle and Shirou saw with widened eyes as an icy spear flew out of it. Time seemed to slow then. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, pumping the adrenaline throughout his body. In some distant part of his mind, he was strangely reminded of the way Gilgamesh would fire his Noble Phantasms from the Gate of Babylon. The way the icicle was coming out of the magic circle looked just like that.

Shirou jerked his body in a twisting motion to avoid the spear, nearly falling to the ground, but managing to catch himself with his leg. He clenched his teeth and winced as he felt the skin on his back get sliced open. _"Hngh!"_ he grunted, as the warmth of the blood drove away the chill that the spear had left behind.

Shirou rushed forward, ignoring the pain. Kanshou was thrust through the magus's shoulder, and his mouth opened wide to cry for help, or perhaps simply to cry. Shirou roughly rammed his forearm against the magus's throat. Whatever words that the magus had meant to say died as mere spluttering coughs.

" _Be quiet,"_ Shirou hissed at him and glanced over at the door. For a few heart pounding seconds, he waited with reinforced ears and bated breath. When he didn't sense anyone coming, he let out a sigh of relief and turned back to the balding man. "Tell us how to get out of here."

" _H-how did you use your Sacred Gear?"_ the magus whispered. _"It should have been sealed."_

"That doesn't matter," Shirou replied. "How do we get out of here?"

" _You can't,"_ the magus stammered. _"It's impossible. This is Hexennacht's headquarters. We have people everywhere in this castle. You can't escape. You can't."_

"There _has_ to be a way out," Shirou said. "Are there any gates or doors that aren't guarded?"

" _We're_ magicians, _man. We don't use gates and doors."_

"What?" Shirou stared at him incredulously. "How do you get out of the castle, then?"

" _We fly over the walls or use a teleportation circle, but you'll never get to_ that _alive. It's always being watched."_

"You can get us out."

" _No way. It's impossible. They'll kill me before they let the two of you escape. And... oh, god. Lady Walburga. No. No. I won't help you. Kill me if you have to, but I won't help you. Besides, even if you managed to get away, you're hundreds of miles from the closest town, and you're surrounded by thick forests. You'd die of starvation before you reach some place safe – if you don't freeze first, that is."_

"And if we stay, who knows what will happen to us?" Shirou switched his grip to grab the magus's collar with both hands. Then he twisted and pulled. The magus choked for air for a bit before passing out. Once he was unconscious, Shirou released him and then turned to the girl and cut her ropes.

" _Grazie,"_ she said as she rubbed her chafed wrists and then pressed her hands against his back. A familiar green light shone from her hands, and his wound stitched itself back together.

"Thank you," Shirou said to her. Then he picked up the severed ropes and bound the unconscious magus's hands behind his back and tore off strips of his robes and used it to gag him and tie his ankles together. "All right. Let's get out of here."

The girl looked at him curiously.

"This is going to be difficult, isn't it?" Shirou sighed and scratched his head. "You" – he pointed at her – "and me" – he pointed at himself – "are going to run away now" – he finished by walking two fingers across the back of his other hand.

" _Ooh."_ To Shirou's relief, she nodded in understanding.

"Good," he said. "Follow me."

They went to the dungeon door. Shirou cracked it open to peek outside.

The dungeon had been connected to what appeared to be a great hall. There was a stairwell at the very back of the hall that fed up to a second floor. Due to the angle of his positioning, he couldn't see much of it beside a small portion of a wooden railing. The floor was covered in what had once been a regal red carpet, but was now a frayed, moth-ridden, over-sized piece of cloth. From the ceiling, a dusty chandelier hung, only dimly giving off a grey glow.

Shirou couldn't see anyone, but he felt the sort of anxiety in the pit of his stomach as when he was treading on thin ice. His mouth felt dry. Taking a deep breath, Shirou slowly opened the door just wide enough to allow him and the girl to creep out. He silently closed the door behind him and took another look around.

Opposite to the stairwell was a large set of doors made of moldy wood and barred with an iron beam. Two stone statues shaped in the effigy of lions stood on either side, jaws open in a proud, eternal roar. There was no one else there.

" _Haa..."_ Shirou let out a quiet breath and motioned for the girl to follow after him. They went to the doors. Shirou grabbed the beam and grunted as he tried to slide it out of the way. Suddenly, Shirou felt the girl tug frantically on his arm and heard her say something urgently. He turned around to look at her when he saw what had caused her to panic so much. The stone lions were coming to life, jumping sinuously off their pedestals and lifting their heads to unleash a true beastly roar.

Shirou shoved the girl out of the way as the stone lions leaped for them. One rammed him in the chest with its head, throwing him back against the door. Shirou felt the air rush out of him. He had reinforced himself at the last second, but there was still a dull throbbing pain in his chest. He hoped that it did not mean that something was broken.

"Trace on," Shirou gasped, projecting a beautiful double-edged European longsword in his hand. One lion swiped at him with claws as long as his fingers, and its arm was severed by the holy sword Durandal, the peerless sword whose sharpness knew no equal. _"Oooh!"_ Shirou shouted so that he could ignore his throbbing chest and attacked twice more, avoiding the lions' warding paws to cut them cleanly in two. When they were down, he used Durandal to split the iron beam and pushed the door open with his whole body. Then he grabbed the girl and they went off at a sprint.

Once they were outside, Shirou understood why the hall had been so strangely abandoned. It was night out, with a full moon burning bright in the sky. The inhabitants of the castle had been sleeping. Though with the sound of their escape, no longer. Only once during their flight did Shirou dare to glance back. He saw lights coming on through several of the castle windows, and he could hear a commotion from back in the hall. The magi would be coming after them within seconds.

The two of them continued running through the ward. Even when the girl's strength began to flag, Shirou kept dragging her forward. They were reaching the outer gates now, which was also sealed tight, but not by physical locks alone. Shirou could see the runes pulsating on the surface of the door.

"Trace on!" Shirou chanted. _"Vajra!"_

A thunderbolt screamed from the golden dagger and pounded against the gate, burning both the runes and the gate and its bolts to a crisp. Shirou and the girl jumped through the charred hole and plunged into the darkness of the forest.

* * *

The hospital room was packed with injured exorcists. Most of them were sleeping off the lingering effects of anesthesia and surgery, but at least one was lying awake in her bed.

Xenovia and Irina walked quietly over to Sister Griselda and brought over a pair of nearby chairs to sit at her bedside.

"Hello, Sister." Irina smiled weakly at her. "How are you feeling?"

Griselda looked at her and took a deep breath before forcing herself to smile back. "I suppose I've been better. The doctors say that I'll get full use of my leg back in about half a year, after rehabilitation."

"It won't take that long," Irina promised. "The holy maiden will heal you – heal all of you – and you'll be back on your feet before you know it."

"Yes, thank you." Griselda sighed as she adjusted herself and stared evenly at Xenovia, who winced and glanced away. "I heard you led the search party to chase after the maiden. What have you to report?"

"We managed to follow their trail to an alley over near Via S. Rita," Xenovia said quietly, almost meekly. "There were traces of a fight, probably between the magicians and the boy who took the maiden. From there, we tracked them to a place a mile outside of the city. A teleportation circle had been prepared for them beforehand."

"So they're gone," Griselda said softly, "and the holy maiden with them."

"Yes," Xenovia whispered. "I'm sorry."

Griselda smiled at the girl and patted her head gently. "It's not your fault, Xenovia. I'm proud of what you did. The fault lies with me. I was the one who let the magicians ambush us. I let them take the holy maiden. It's because of my negligence that so many of our brothers and sisters were wounded or killed."

"No, Sister Griselda," Irina said fiercely. "The people at fault are the magicians. They're the ones who attacked and killed innocent people. If anyone should be blamed, it should only be them."

"Fair enough." Griselda chuckled softly. "Have the two of you contacted the higher-ups yet?"

"We have," Xenovia said. "When we realized that we had lost their trail, we alerted headquarters and briefed them on our situation. Dulio has been sent to search for the magicians' base, and a rescue team is being put together. We're returning to Rome to join them... if that's okay with you, Sister."

"Yes, I've no qualms with that."

"Thank you."

"Irina," Griselda said, "would you mind if I have a moment alone with Xenovia?"

"Of course not." Irinsa stood up and looked at her partner. "I'll wait for you outside."

"Okay."

Griselda Quarta waited for Irina to leave before speaking. "I'm glad you're unhurt, Xenovia."

"I'm sorry, Mom," Xenovia said. "If I hadn't been so afraid to use Durandal, maybe none of this would have happened."

"Don't be so arrogant," Griselda chided her. "A weapon you can't properly control yet would only end up harming you and everyone around you."

"Then I should have trained harder. I should have practiced more. If I had, you wouldn't be like this."

" _Shhh."_ Griselda pulled Xenovia into a hug and stroked the back of her head. "I already told you, this isn't your fault. I should be the one apologizing. It's not for the daughter to clean up after her mother."

"I don't mind," Xenovia mumbled into Griselda's chest as she gently squeezed her arms around her.

"That's because you're a good girl." Griselda touched a lock of her daughter's blue hair. "Listen to me, Xenovia. I've been watching you grow ever since you were put under my care so many years ago, so I can say this with confidence: You are someone special. God marked _you_ as the true owner of Durandal when you were born for a reason. He chose you for a reason. You have the potential to be one of the greatest exorcists the Church has ever seen. But that has been as much a gift as a burden to you, I think. You've always, _always_ been the one to take responsibility for your own actions, and that has made you stronger and more mature than most others your age. But it's also made you so much more sensitive to failure; more willing to blame yourself. Don't try to take responsibility for things beyond your control, or for the mistakes of others. The guilt will only weigh you down."

"I understand."

"Good." Griselda parted with Xenovia and gave her a smile. "In that case, you should hurry. Irina won't wait for you forever, and neither will the holy maiden. Go and find her, and bring her back."

Xenovia rubbed her eyes, sniffed, then nodded and looked at Griselda fiercely.

"I will," she said. "Thank you, Mom."

* * *

 _It must be close to winter,_ Shirou thought as his teeth chattered and his body shivered. In the dead of night, the temperature had fallen well below zero. It wouldn't have been too strange for snow to fall at any time, though Shirou fervently prayed that it would not. Hiding their tracks would be much more difficult when they were leaving their footprints behind everywhere they went.

At the moment, they were hiding in a burrow underneath the roots of a great tree, scanning the starry sky for any signs of the magi. In the past hour alone, Shirou had counted more than twenty of them. He wondered how far they were now, and how many of them realized that the two of them were not even half a mile away from the magi's castle.

In effect, it was a clever plan. Given the circumstances of their escape, it was natural for the magi to assume that they would attempt to flee as fast and as far away as possible. That belief blinded them to other possibilities, causing them to fly right over them without ever looking back.

In truth, however, their decision to hide so close to the castle had nothing at all to do with an intelligent plan or cunning thinking. The simple fact of the matter was that the girl had become so exhausted that taking another step had become impossible. And perhaps that was for the best, Shirou thought. Trying to hike through this forest at night was just begging for a sprained ankle. Even if the girl could heal them, Shirou thought that it was best to avoid using up her strength unnecessarily.

Shirou crawled back under the roots once he was certain that no more magi were flying nearby. He could hear the girl's teeth chattering as well. The bald magus had been telling the truth – for anyone else, they surely would have died from overexposure to the cold within the night.

Fortunately, Shirou had a few tricks up his sleeve.

"Trace on," he murmured as he traveled the seven steps of creation in order to bring to life the image held inside his mind. The first thing he projected was a warm dark coat for the girl to wear, who accepted it gratefully. Then Shirou made for himself a new sweater and coat as well, in order to replace his currently tattered outfit. After that came two thick, downy quilts, like the one he used at home. He handed one to the girl before wrapping himself in the other like a caterpillar weaving a cocoon. Then he laid down and closed his eyes to sleep, briefly opening them again when he heard the girl say something under her breath, only to realize that she was simply praying.

They did not move again until the second morning after their escape. In the meanwhile, they sustained themselves on the water that collected on the leaves from the early morning mist and whatever roots and berries that seemed edible and happened to be nearby. Unfortunately, as neither of them were experienced outdoorsmen, they could not tell what was and wasn't actually safe to eat. So instead, they resorted to a trial-and-error method, wherein Shirou would be the poison tester for every new thing they encountered. If what he had eaten was safe, then the girl would eat as well; if it wasn't, she would heal him and they would choose something else to eat. They continued this practice as they traveled southward. Shirou did not know where the nearest town was, so it seemed to him that, with winter approaching, south was the most sensible direction to take.

At one point, tired of their meager diet, Shirou had considered catching and eating a few bugs – he knew that they were supposed to be high in protein. He ultimately decided against it, however, not just because of his personal distaste, but also because he did not want to risk becoming infected with parasites. Although the girl could cure him of nearly anything that ailed him, her ability was fundamentally a healing one; to cure someone of parasites, one had to remove or destroy them. And with starting a fire to cook their food being far too risky, Shirou dared not attempt to supplement their diet with any form of wildlife at all.

That was not to say the idea did not linger in his head. He had not eaten a proper meal since just before heading off to Ryuudou Temple. He did not know how long ago that was, but his stomach was practically howling for food with every step they took. Sooner or later, they would need to take the risk of preparing a heartier meal, lest both of them lose their strength and die.

As it so happened, the opportunity for that risk came sooner rather than later. On the dawn of the fourth day since their escape from the castle, Shirou spotted a rabbit out of the corner of his eye. It still had patches of its brown summer coat. It was nibbling on some grass and had not yet noticed them. Shirou silently motioned for the girl to come to a stop behind him as he projected a bow and arrow in his hands. In a single fluid motion, he nocked, drew, and fired, killing the rabbit in a single shot. Never had he been so happy to have learned how to use a bow.

Unfortunately, Shirou did not know how to properly clean and gut an animal. In his first attempt, he accidentally sliced open its bowels, spilling its contents and fouling the meat. They were forced to discard it, and it was not for another day that Shirou had the opportunity to try again. This time, though clumsily and messily done, he succeeded. He pulled out the rabbit's entrails, skinned it, drained it of its blood, and was left with a pound of raw meat.

They took the meat to a stream, where they collected water in a projected pot and set to building a fire. Shirou gathered the driest, oldest pieces of wood that he could and gathered them in a pile. After collecting a ball of dry grass, Shirou attempted to start a fire by rubbing two sticks against each other, as he had once seen in some book or movie long ago. It was a futile effort, however. There was some technique to it, it seemed, one that Shirou did not have, and all he had to show for nearly twenty minutes of effort were sore arms and splinters and blisters on his palms, which were summarily healed.

Shirou then attempted to create sparks by striking a sword with a nearby rock. There was some success there, but it wasn't enough, so Shirou had the idea of trying different types of stones and seeing if there was any difference. He found the one he needed from a rock back near the stream. Soon they had a fire going, trailing thin wisps of nearly invisible white smoke into the cloudy sky. Shirou set the pot above the fire on a makeshift spit and let the water come to a boil before dumping in the carved pieces of the rabbit along with a few collected herbs.

When the stew was done, they ate as quickly as they could without upsetting their stomachs. As soon as they were finished, Shirou hastily extinguished the fire, buried it in dirt, and they fled – with perfect timing too. Within minutes of leaving their campsite, Shirou heard the voices of the magi behind them. Once more, the two of them hid in a burrow and waited a few days for the magi to pass them by.

On the tenth day of their escape, Shirou began to notice changes in the girl. She was paler and visibly more gaunt. She seemed to be almost constantly out of breath and her nose bled frequently, yet when Shirou felt her forehead, her skin was cold and dry. She didn't have a fever, Shirou realized; she was simply at her limits.

She had done well in keeping up without complaint thus far, despite her slight physique. But the lack of real meals had drained her of her reserves, and the occasional meat and fish that they fed on wasn't enough to restore them. The constant fear and stress wore away at her mind as well, and exhausted her nearly as much as the hiking.

They stopped for three days to try to let the girl recover her strength. Shirou even tried to bring her meat that he cooked away from her location, but it was to no avail. Her health slowly began to worsen.

On the fourteenth day, winter had come at last in full force. Large flakes of snow fell heavily from grey skies, and Shirou knew then that they had to make a choice: Either surrender to the magi or wait and die. Whatever choice they made, they could no longer press onward.

Or perhaps there was yet a third option. It was risky, highly unlikely to succeed, and in fact downright suicidal – but it was their only chance of escaping with their lives. And should he fail... well, Shirou supposed that the worst that would happen would be that he'd be killed.

On the afternoon of the fifteenth day, Shirou did his best to make the girl comfortable. He piled warm blankets on top of her and below her to provide a soft cushion. He gave her a pillow to rest her head on. He left for her a cup of water and some collected berries that they had already proven to be safe.

Then he stood up, turned around, and began to walk away.

He heard the girl call out weakly to him. He did not need to understand her words to know what she was saying then. _Where are you going?_

Shirou looked back at her and smiled. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll be back for you soon. Just sleep and wait for me."

Shirou walked until he found a large glade in the forest, taking care to cover his tracks behind him. He gathered green wood at the center of the meadow and set fire to it, letting the black smoke curl up into the sky. In less than ten minutes, he could see the magi flying towards him.

For his plan to succeed, he would need to defeat the magi and force one or two of them to take him and the girl somewhere safe – back to the city, if at all possible.

The magi were swarming in the skies like crows now. Fifty... seventy... one hundred of them. They hovered in the air, waiting. One among them descended – a woman wearing a lilac dress.

" _Where is she?"_ the woman said without preamble.

"You're going to have to be a little more specific than that," Shirou replied dryly.

" _No games,"_ the woman snarled. _"Tell me, boy, before I have you killed."_

Shirou shook his head. "Not until you promise to let her go."

" _Then die."_

Purple flame wreathed the woman's arm and collected into an enormous sphere above her hand. Its heat was such that it almost instantly melted away all the snow around her, creating a cloud of steam. Even from where he stood, Shirou could feel the flames' power on his skin.

Shirou took a deep breath. "I am the bone of my sword," he whispered. _"Trace on!"_

* * *

" _Rho Aias!"_ Shirou declared as the massive fireball seared through the air towards him. A four-petaled shield erupted into existence, shining a dark magenta, and it met the ball of flames like a stalwart rampart, while the earth around it burned.

Without giving the woman in lilac a chance to follow up, Shirou projected Kanshou and Bakuya and hurled them around the great shield of Aias. Attracted to one another, they curved as they flew, like boomerangs, and fell in on the lilac woman, but a slight gesture of her fingers was all she needed to reduce both swords to ashes.

She held up an open palm in his direction. Shirou's eyes widened and he leaped hard to the right. Behind him, a torrent of flames a dozen meters wide and just as tall ripped through the forest, a burning purple worm that devoured the snow-covered trees. When the flames dissipated, there was a massive blackened gash in the landscape that stretched on for nearly a mile. Shirou could hear his heart pounding, feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins. That was a close call. He had been lucky to dodge it, and luckier still that the lilac woman had unknowingly aimed her spell away from where the Christian girl was still resting.

More of the violet flames came for him, this time as several smaller tendrils, though the smallest of them was still large enough to encompass his entire body. Shirou dodged as best he could, running and rolling and jumping and even scrambling on all fours when she caught him off balance. But they both knew that this was only delaying the inevitable. The other magi had yet to even join in on the battle. If Shirou wanted any chance of surviving, he needed to find an opening to attack, and if there wasn't one, force an opening and attack anyway.

Shirou projected Kanshou and Bakuya again and threw them, not at the lilac woman this time, but past her. Thinking that he had missed, the lilac woman made no effort to dodge or destroy the swords. She focused all her attention on Shirou, as he made another pair of the married Chinese swords to replace the thrown ones and charged. The lilac woman sent a dozen fireballs flying his way, from the left, from the right, from above, and from straight on. Shirou tried to find the gaps in between the flames and pressed forward, dodging one, then two, but on the third was forced to retreat. But that was all right. He had been using himself as bait. While her attention was on him, the lilac woman didn't notice the first pair of Kanshou and Bakuya turning around and come flying back towards their opposites – to the ones still in Shirou's hands. For a moment, Shirou thought he had won. But someone from above yelled out a warning, and the lilac woman turned, saw, and destroyed the swords.

" _Interesting trick,"_ she said, though Shirou felt quite certain that she was anything but impressed. He wondered why. It probably had to do with the murderous glare she was sending his way.

Shirou dashed forward again, and was interrupted this time by spells coming from the sky. The hundred or more magi above them drew their magic circles and unleashed a devastating storm of fire, ice, and lightning. Their combined strength was like the hammer of god, forcing Shirou to summon Rho Aias yet again. He grunted under the strain of it all. While each individual spell was but a pebble before the great shield, collectively it was like trying to hold up a ton of gravel from collapsing down on himself. One by one, within seconds of the last, the petals were being destroyed.

It was at that moment that Shirou realized that so long as the other magi still lingered above them, he would never have a chance at defeating the lilac woman.

As the last petal fell, Shirou dropped and rolled away. Hot clumps of dirt and stone went flying every which way. One punched Shirou straight in the ribs. He grunted. As he got back to his feet, Shirou drew upon as many weapons as he could manage from the hill of swords inside him. Every single one of them was a finely made sword, but none of them had the power of myths and legends attached to them that gave Noble Phantasms their strength – at this juncture, Shirou required the quantity of many over the quality of few. They numbered thirty in all, forming a curtain of steel in the air behind him, pointed ominously at the magi flying in the air.

"All projections, stand-by," Shirou said as the firing hammers inside his mind were cocked and readied. "Targets affirmed. Releasing freeze. All projections... _fire!"_

The swords streaked through the air like bullets, homing in on the magi as they twisted and turned in the air, or conjured opaque barriers to guard themselves. Many of them succeeded in protecting themselves, but not all. And far more importantly, that attack had been enough to throw the magi into a brief state of chaos.

In that minuscule window of opportunity, Shirou once again leaped for the lilac woman. She hastily threw a fireball at him, which he dodged by jumping clear over, but as he descended upon the woman, he saw her eyes narrow and gleam. Then violet fire bloomed outward with an explosive roar. Shirou was flung backwards, crashing on the ground far away, clothes burnt, skin covered in blisters, black and red.

" _Guh...!"_ Shirou could barely even groan. His wounds hurt so badly that they paralyzed him from head to toe.

The lilac woman stalked closer to him. She loomed over him now, staring at him with a certain malicious glee in her eyes, confident in her victory. She pointed a finger at him, and wisps of fire began to gather there.

 _Move,_ Shirou desperately ordered his disobedient limbs. _Move or else she's going to kill you. Move or else she'll capture that girl. MOVE!_

With a pained shout, Shirou launched himself back up onto his feet, every nerve in his body screaming in agony, as he projected a plain, nameless iron sword in his hand. He thrust it at the lilac woman, who, caught by surprise by his sudden resistance, reacted half a second too late. She jerked her body to the side as the blade swept past her neck, leaving a thin red line across its side. She wheeled back several steps, one hand clamped tightly over her wound, eyes wide. Shirou tried to follow, but his legs would no longer obey him. Gasping, he crumpled to the ground.

" _You..."_ the lilac woman breathed. Slowly, she withdrew her hand and stared at it. She stared at the warm, wet blood. Then she seethed. _"You!"_

There was a volcanic eruption, or so it seemed like. A massive pillar of fire rose up, centered around the lilac woman. The other magi had to hasten out of the way, lest they get caught up in its flames. The burning pillar reached all the way to the clouds, drying it up, and painted the sky in its violet flavor.

For a moment, Shirou couldn't do much else but to stare up in awe. Was this, he wondered, how the Egyptians had felt when as they pursued Moses and his people to the Red Sea, God intervened by sending down his holy fire?

He could not defend against this. There was no way he could defend against this. Even if Rho Aias miraculously held, the enveloping heat would turn him into charcoal anyway. With tired motions, Shirou stood up. The only thing he could do now was to try to meet this overwhelming force with an equally strong power... even if that was at the risk of his own life.

"Trace on," Shirou whispered as a sword – a near perfect image of _her_ sword – appeared in his hands. It felt unusually heavy. He tightened his fingers around its blue and gold hilt. Its snow-white blade was long and wide and double-edged, and was inscribed with the letters written in the language of fairies. When Shirou began to pour his mana into the blade and raised it above his head, it began to glow golden, and drew in light from his surroundings. _"Excalibur!"_ he shouted and swung the blade down.

The sword's light became a dazzling thing. Like a torch in the darkness, it shone – but only for an instant. The moment Shirou finished his swing, the light flickered and winked out like a snuffed candle. Shirou fell again to one knee, leaning against his projected Excalibur for support. He breathed heavily. His head was pounding. And now even his nerves felt like they were burning. Every last drop of his strength was gone.

The Sword of Promised Victory. Even the most powerful Noble Phantasm was still nothing more than a sharp piece of metal if the one wielding it was too weak to even speak its name.

He had lost his bet.

Shirou closed his eyes and prepared himself for the end. But then he heard an unusual sound. A hiss, like the kind he had so often heard whenever a drop of water landed on a hot pan while he was cooking. And then that sound repeated itself, faster and faster with every repetition. Shirou opened his eyes as the rain began to fall on him as well.

The lilac woman was standing opposite to him, arm still frozen in the air. Her eyes were wide as she stared up at the dark storm clouds that were beginning to gather in the sky. When the rumble of thunder resounded through the air, she whispered, in a voice full of dread. _"Oh no. No no no. Not_ him."

Rain fell in full force, extinguishing the ring of fire around the meadow. Then it was sleet and shards of ice like daggers. They shredded the flesh and clothes of the magi still in the air, easily tearing through whatever barriers they attempted to erect. Even the lilac woman was forced to create an umbrella of fire above herself to protect herself from the hail. Yet, curiously, not a single fragment of ice fell upon Shirou.

The surviving magi returned to the ground and combined their efforts to raise a powerful shield around them. That was when the lightning fell. Screeching claws of heaven raked the earth, ripping through the barriers like so much tissue. The magi's screams were drowned out by the roar of thunder, and Shirou winced. He covered his ears and reinforced his eardrums to avoid having them rupture.

Everything after that was accompanied by a droning ringing noise. Twisters scattered what magi survived the lightning storm and attempted to take to the sky, while an earthquake so powerful that it split yawning chasms in the ground toppled those who remained on land. And somewhere, very distantly, Shirou could hear a strangely rhythmic noise, like the beating of a drum in fast forward. _Ba-da-ba-da-ba-da-ba-da._

Shirou searched for the source of the noise, difficult for his diminished hearing, but he found it soon enough. A small fleet of helicopters was flying towards them, the storm clouds giving way to allow them safe passage. They stopped above the meadow and the doors opened. One by one, men and women dressed in unremarkable black clothes jumped out, parachutes ballooning overhead. They were the warriors from before, Shirou realized upon seeing them draw their holy swords and guns. The exorcists.

" _Dulio,"_ the lilac woman snarled as one man in particular came down, not by parachute, but as though he was walking down an invisible set of stairs in the air.

The man reminded Shirou a little of the Christian girl. Like her, he had blonde hair and green eyes, and he was dressed in priestly garb. He appeared older than Shirou, though not by much. His youthful countenance gave the impression of a man in his early twenties. He had an angry look about him, but it appeared foreign to him, as though anger was not an emotion he experienced regularly, or at least did not express regularly. And when he spoke to the woman in that same unknown language as the girl, he did so almost in a snarl.

" _Damn you, Dulio,"_ the lilac woman spat. All around them, the exorcists were driving the magi back in force. _"Damn you and this boy. Everyone, retreat!"_

The magi pulled away from the exorcists and took to the sky. The man, Dulio, watched them leave. For a moment, Shirou saw a flash of contemplation in his eyes, as though he was considering whether or not to pursue them. He must have decided against it, however, for at last he waved his hand, and the storm clouds and the rain and the hail abated as suddenly as they had come.

Dulio looked back at Shirou, clicking his tongue as he observed the nasty wounds he had suffered. He held out a hand, and water gathered in his open palm. He pressed it down against Shirou's chest. To Shirou's amazement, the water spread across his body, soaking into his skin, and healed him. Tentatively, Shirou stood back up. He still ached, but the pain wasn't so bad anymore.

Then Dulio said something to him, but Shirou could only shake his head in response. _"I do not understand,"_ he said in mangled English. He looked around at the other exorcists that were gathering around them, swords and guns still in hand. They were glaring suspiciously at him, causing Shirou to sigh wearily. "Seriously," he said loudly and exasperatedly. "Is there _anyone_ here who can speak Japanese? _Please?"_

For a moment, none of them spoke or even moved. Then one – just one among them – slowly raised her hand: an Asian girl with long chestnut colored hair tied into two pigtails.

"I can," she said.

* * *

Diadora Astaroth had always grown up in the shadow of power, so he knew what it felt like when the powerful were upset. He could feel it now as he entered Walburga's chambers. It was like walking upon a bridge of ice over a raging inferno.

"So," he said calmly as he took a seat across from her. "It seems you've failed."

"Yes." Walburga sighed long and hard, resting her forehead against one hand. "My apologies. I know it's no consolation, but I've already punished the one responsible for allowing her escape."

"Mistakes happen," Diadora said softly.

Walburga looked up at him, brows creased and lips frowning. "You are not at all as angry as I'd imagine you'd be."

"I suppose I am fairly upset," Diadora admitted. "But this was but a minor setback. I still have great hopes for you and your magicians, you know. As proof, I've brought you another gift." He clapped his hands, and one of his accompanying maid servants brought forward a glazed bottle set on a tray. She knelt on the ground before Walburga and presented it to her. When she accepted it, the sound of liquid could be heard sloshing around inside. "Phoenix tears," Diadora said. "I noticed that many of your people were wounded on my way in. I hope this can help."

"My lord of Astaroth, you are far too kind. I am grateful."

"Think nothing of it." Diadora smiled. "Your group has taken many losses. I'll leave you be so that you may recover, for the time being. Soon, however, I hope that I may call upon you again to assist in whatever other concerns that may arise."

"Of course," Walburga said. "But what of Asia Argento? With this failed attempt on her person, it will be near impossible to try again any time soon."

"Ah, don't worry about her." Diadora waved one hand airily. "Truth be told, I've already lost interest in her. I've found another priestess in Russia that is absolutely stunning _–_ and also far easier to claim."

"If that is what you want," Walburga frowned. "Shall we fetch her for you?"

"No," Diadora said. "This is simple enough that my peerage can accomplish it with relative ease. As I said, focus on recovering for now. I'll be in touch soon."

After making the final niceties, Diadora stood up and left. He and his servants went to where the castle's teleportation circle was set, and, after injecting his own power into the runes to activate it, they vanished and reappeared in his personal mansion.

"Master," one of his accompanying servants said once they were arrived. "You were very forgiving today."

"Of course I was," Diadora spat. "Did you expect me to tell her 'I have no more need of you and your useless lot'? The moment she believes I do not need her anymore is the moment she turns on me. I had no wish to die then and there."

"Have you truly given up on Sister Asia Argento, master?" the other servant asked.

"No," Diadora said. Then he whirled on his heel and began to walk away. "Cut the connection to that witch's rathole. From henceforth, we shall have nothing more to do with them. As for Asia, I'll see to her myself. One way or another, no matter how long it takes, I will make her mine."


End file.
